


Outraging Public Decency

by churchkey



Series: Sholstrade Ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, M/M, Sholstrade, blowjob, sex in public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchkey/pseuds/churchkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Greg go for a jog and one of them blows the other. A Tumblr #smut sunday submission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outraging Public Decency

James runs almost every day now, rising very early and fumbling around in the dark to dress. Greg’s often still in bed when he gets home and James steps lightly around the kitchen as he gets the coffee going and drinks two big glasses of water. Usually by then Greg is stirring and it never gets old, the way Greg looks at him with a flash of sleepy desire in his dark eyes, swaggers up in rumpled flannel and wild hair and lays proprietary hands on James’ hips.

“Shag before I go?” he murmurs into James’ neck, and they often do. Sometimes in the shower. Sometimes nested in twisted sheets, still warm from sleep. Always James feels it in his muscles long after, the echoes of pleasure mixing with that pleasant ache in his thighs and calves and lungs.

He’d done marathons before the war but now he shrinks from the thought of all those people, those horrible crowds, and prefers to run alone, early, when he rarely meets another soul. He doesn’t miss it. The running itself was the part he’d loved. Greg is slowly bringing him back to all the things he used to love.

One Saturday night as Greg looked into his empty pint glass - only his third - he said, “I think I’ll join you tomorrow, if you don’t mind,” and they called it an early night, huddled up with Fry and Laurie and were asleep by ten. Since then Greg’s traded Sunday hangovers for morning runs and grapefruit juice, for sunlight glinting off the jelly jar in prismed jewels on the hardwood floor.

They run together, and the cadence is hypnotic, summoning stories they’ve never told each other and had all but forgotten themselves. Mundane. Funny. Heartbreaking. Profound. The time James, as a boy, snuck a bird’s nest into his room and cried when he realized they’d never hatch and it was his fault. Greg, at 13, smoking alone in his bedroom, determined to teach himself to inhale and feeling like he’d been sucker punched. The threads of these stories intertwine and the colors blend until James doesn’t know which memories are his and which are Greg’s. The threads of twenty years, forty years, weave a blanket that covers them both and there are no years, only this moment right now, and then the one after that. Their intimacy quietly deepens with each slap of rubber against the pavement, and James’ lover becomes his best friend too.

They run together, and the fog settles around their ankles and seeps into the pavement. James lets Greg set the pace. Greg is not a graceful runner. He’s heavy footfalls and pained grunts and labored breaths. A casual observer would think he were angry, stubbornly punishing his body because if it’s not hard, it doesn’t feel as good when he’s done. James is light on his feet, tripping along the cement as though it were made of clouds. His breaths are deep but even, and the look of serene wisdom never leaves his face.

Sweat covers their bodies the same, a glossy sheen that cools their necks and spreads in dark, irregular circles under their arms and down their backs. The early-spring morning is brisk but bright. They’ve made it nearly five miles along the river when James notices Greg has gone quiet and decides they ought to turn back.

“Let’s walk a bit,” he says, and Greg seems only too relieved to slow down, hands on his hips and lungs heaving. James pops into a corner shop and comes out with two bottles of water. They drink and mop the sweat from their faces with their shirtsleeves.

“You’re getting faster,” James says as he checks his watch. “Almost an 8-minute mile.”

Greg’s lips curl around the plastic bottleneck. “Sooner we get home, the sooner we can fuck.” He winks at James and drinks half the bottle in a few hearty gulps.

James laughs through his nose and shakes his head slightly. “You always find your way back round to that, don’t you.”

Greg shrugs a shoulder in his defense. “You’re the one prancing around in tights.” He steps closer and slides his hand around James’ hip to cup his arse. “What’dyou expect?”

James folds his arms across his chest, playing coy. “Discretion, perhaps. A measure of propriety. We are in public.”

Greg tosses the empty bottle in the bin and wraps his other arm around James’ waist. His eyes sweep down James’ face and stop at his lips. “Fuck all that and kiss me.”

James doesn’t check to see if anyone is watching; he’s long past caring about that. Draping his arms around Greg’s shoulders, he dips his head to the side and brings their mouths together. Greg’s tongue is cold and wet and James feels the stubble on his chin scrape against his own.

“Want you,” Greg mumbles against James’ mouth, and there’s something petulant in his tone, something that sounds like when he just wakes up and isn’t thinking quite straight yet.

“Let’s get home,” James answers, surprised by the throaty hunger in his own voice.

Greg hums in protest and kisses James harder. “Now. Here.”

James breaks the kiss and looks at Greg under a skeptical brow.

“You’re not serious.”

Greg looks beyond James’ shoulder down the alley between the the shop and the bar next to it.

“Let me go down on you back there.” He juts his chin in the direction of the alley. “I promise no one’ll see.”

James laughs again and tugs a slippery handful of Greg’s hair. “You can’t promise any such thing. You must be -”

“Crazy?” Greg wraps his arms tighter around James’ waist. “Mad with desire? Well you’ve only yourself to blame for that, love.”

Against all reason and better judgement, James turns his head to inspect the alley and then looks back at the street. The block seems deserted; not a single car had driven by the whole time they’d been standing here. Greg’s lips are on his neck and he feels something warm begin to rise and expand within his core.

“I want you in my mouth,” Greg whispers between kisses, and James feels lips brush the edge of his ear. “I want my jaw to ache tomorrow.”

A sound like a breathy, clipped moan rumbles from James’ chest. He lets Greg lead him by the hand into the cold shadow of the alley.

***

Greg backs James up behind a stack of empty pallets that block the view from the street. James can still see through the gaps in the shoddy wooden slats and keeps a vigilant eye in that direction just in case. 

“Would you fucking relax?” Greg’s voice carries traces of dominance and authority like blunt instruments. He wedges his sturdy thigh between James’ legs and forces them open wider. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you mean the -” James fights to keep control of his desire as Greg rubs thick hands down his chest, presses his hips back against the wall, “ - oral sex?” He feels his lungs expanding and retracting erratically, like he’s jumped into a cold lake. “Or the law-breaking?”

“I’m offended you’d question me on either count.” 

Greg cups James’ jaw, his fingers wrapping around the back of his neck; he turns James’ head back to face him and his eyes lock on James’, waiting for their tacit assent. A faint smile flickers over James’ lips and is gone. Greg smiles back and murmurs a quiet “good” before closing the space between them. The kiss is wet and deep and James moans into the dark heat of Greg’s mouth as he feels a steady palm pressed flat against his erection. 

Greg hums praise and teases James’ lips and jaw and neck with little kisses as he slips his hand into James’ tights to wrap fingers around his swelling prick. He’s figured out that making James feel virile turns him on like nothing else can, and so his sex talk is always a variation on that theme -

“... rock-hard, god it’s so big, you’re fucking granite James, your cock is steel…”

James’ breaths come fast and shallow and his eyelids droop as Greg works him in his hand. It unravels James - the hard grip and then release, the slow, even strokes and thumb swirling a wet circle around the head. 

“Greg,” he says quietly, a shaky, strained appeal that Greg ignores.

“... so fucking hot, god I want you love, I need your cock...” 

“Yes,” James sighs, and it’s neither an order nor a plea. He lays a light hand on Greg’s shoulder and digs his fingertips into the tight muscle, hesitating a moment before trying to press Greg down to kneel.

“Say it,” Greg insists calmly. 

James whimpers and drops his head against the bricks. Greg takes a step back and looks at him with eyes that burn and smolder; they look darker in the dim light of the alley and James remembers what’s so easy to forget when the lights are on - 

He wets his lips and meets Greg’s stare. “Suck my cock.”

“Love to hear you say that,” Greg says in a husky murmur and then drops slowly to his knees.

\- that Greg, his good-natured, plainspoken love - 

James’ breath catches in his throat as he feels the scratch of Greg’s fingers dragging up the backs of his thighs, Greg’s face burrowing into his crotch, forehead, nose, lips, chin, all nuzzling his cock and balls. 

“Oh _god_ ,” James breathes, and remembers that his darling Greg, who’d never even kissed a man before James, has a way of turning him inside-fucking-out, discovering something new within him in places James had long ago stopped exploring. 

Greg lifts the hem of James’ shirt and strokes his palm in wide circles over his stomach. Humming, James looks down at him and traces his index finger along his hairline.

“Am I drawing this out too much?” Greg asks.

James shakes his head and smiles lovingly. “No, that feels good, baby.”

Greg presses his lips to a bare patch of creamy skin above James’ navel. He hooks his fingers under the waist of James’ tights and tugs them down his thighs. James widens his stance and leans back against the wall, holding himself steady on Greg’s shoulder as Greg licks a slow, wet path down his stomach. 

James feels Greg’s hand wrap around the base of his cock and then his tongue, laving circles around the head, licking up and down, slicking his shaft. Then Greg sucks James fully into his mouth and James shudders as wet, velvety heat envelops him. 

He moans on each exhale, a quiet, needy sound that rises in pitch as Greg’s head bobs forward and back, as James sees Greg’s lips stretched wide around his cock, red and shining. Greg draws back to stroke him, his hand pumping furiously and James’ knees buckle, “oh god, _oh fuck_ , love,” before taking his cock in his mouth again. 

And again, again, that perfect exchange of lips and tongue and rough, strong hand. James feels all the muscles in his body clench and tighten as he gets closer, hears the choked, slutty grunts coming from Greg’s throat, sees the dark grooves creasing Greg’s eyebrows and the bulge tenting his own joggers. He begins to rock his hips in shallow waves, fucking Greg’s mouth. Greg finds the rhythm, nodding his head forward as James thrusts toward him and the movement takes him so deep he feels his cock bump against the back of Greg’s throat. Greg draws away and uses his hand again, the tight circle of his palm jerking up and down, so fast that James falls forward, has to lean on Greg’s shoulders because he’s so close, almost there - 

“Greg,” he whimpers, and soft wet heat blankets his cock again and he is coming, hips lunging into Greg as though that will make it harder, better, stronger, and it does. James drops his head back and groans loudly, a sound that surprises him in its lack of control. He looks down in time to see Greg’s throat flex, feel the last pull of suction as Greg swallows around his cock. 

James drops back heavily against the wall; for a few moments, all he can do is breathe. 

“Oh god, darling,” he finally pants, opening his eyes to smile down at his lover. “You know you don’t have to - “

“Yeah, I know.” As Greg rises to stand he wipes a trickle of come from his chin with the heel of his hand. “If you could see the look on your face, you’d know why I do.” He smirks and steps closer to James, lays his whole body flush against him. 

“And anyway, I like how you taste.” Greg’s tongue slides between his lips, wetting them. His voice drops to a sweet murmur. “You like it too, don’t you?”

James hums and opens his mouth as Greg’s lips touch his. The salty tang on Greg’s tongue can’t cover the elemental _Greg_ -ness beneath, and as James delves deeper, it occurs to him that maybe the Elemental Greg can’t cover the taste of James anymore either, that both of them carry the mark of the other in every part of their bodies. You and Me, indelible, deathless fusion. 

“I owe you for that one,” James says as he tugs his tights back up around his waist, adjusts himself inside them. 

Greg smiles and gives James' shoulder a playful sock with his fist. “You can make me breakfast.” 

“I’d rather make you scream.”

Greg flashes him a look of delighted censure and walks backward a few steps toward the street. “First things first, love,” he says, breaking into a jog. “It’s five miles home and I expect you to keep up.”

Greg disappears around the corner but he’s never really gone.


End file.
